


Couldn't Breathe to Save My Life

by odietamo53



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, Gender or Sex Swap, Group Sex, Multi, Recreational Drug Use, Rough Sex, Shotgunning, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-30 02:38:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/odietamo53/pseuds/odietamo53
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn, a poor art student, wins a contest where she is sent on a date with each member of the world's number one boyband. Liam's starting to think maybe she's what's been missing from the group this whole time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the lyric change in _I Want_ \- 'different dick every night'. Genderswapped Zayn. Title is from Parachute's _She (for Liz)_  
>  Originally posted to livejournal.

Zayn rolls her eyes, hard, because maybe the intent behind such a dramatic gesture will break through the thick fog currently surrounding her best friend’s brain. “You’re absolutely mental, you know that right?”

“I fail to see where you could possibly be coming up with that statement.” Zayn’s commandeered phone was being held for ransom until she signed the form and Danny’s shit eating grin said the phone might not be coming back even after she complied. 

“I didn’t agree to this.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“I won’t win.”

“And when you don’t you’ll cry yourself to sleep and thank the heavens you at least have a friend there to provide you with such a chance at heartbreak.”

Zayn rolls her eyes again, for good measure, and snatches up a pen.

\--

“This one dotted all her ‘I’s with hearts, I bet Liam would get on with her.” Louis swung the paper dramatically in front of the taller boy’s face.

“I bet she’s twelve,” Niall replied, failing to glance up from his own stack of papers.

Louis squinted down at the form. “Says she’s twenty.”

“All the more reason to throw it out,” Liam said, shoving at Louis’ hand. The amount of time they’d spent doing this was grating on his nerves and he was quickly becoming short with everyone in speaking range. “Just pull the next one and let’s say she won.”

Louis pulled a face of mock horror. “Mr. Payne. We are contractually obligated to look at every qualifying entry.”

Liam’s forehead hit the table hard and he groaned. “Then pull the bottom one from the stack. I don’t care.” 

“Ah, good man,” Louis nodded, “knew you’d think of something.” 

\--

“To our loyal viewers, the moment is here. After a long wait, we have the results every girl in the country is dying to hear. First, girls’ applied online with their name and age, next, those qualified filled out questionnaires, a random selection of two hundred were sent to the four members of the hottest boyband who then chose their favourite answers. The lucky chosen girl will get a date with each boy. Want to know if you won? Stay tuned we’ll tell you after the break.” 

“She said the moment was here, that means you tell us now, not after the break!” Danny tossed a handful of crisps at the television and slumped back onto the couch. 

Zayn flipped the sketchbook in her hands, smearing a bit of ink in the process. “Stop wasting my food.”

Her normally docile roommate bounced up to his knees and draped himself over Zayn’s shoulders. “You’re not even paying attention.”

“I’m not going to win.”

“Lies!” Danny flung himself back onto the couch and kicked his feet out. “I wrote some awesome fucking answers for you, they’ll love you. It’s gotta be yoooo-.”

Zayn smashed a pillow into her friend’s face. She wasn’t usually overly violent, but a line had to be drawn somewhere. 

“And we’re back. No more waiting ladies.” The woman onscreen pulled out a giant gold envelope in a gesture that was both gaudy and caused Zayn a serious amount of secondhand embarrassment. “Our lucky winner is a Miss. Zayn Malik. Congratulations!” She kept talking, something about jealous girls and the boys and paparazzi but Zayn didn’t hear a word of it. Her hands had frozen, pen scratching across her carefully done sketch, and Danny was screaming so loud the neighbors would be knocking down the door any moment. 

“Won’t win my ARSE!” Bright spots of red colored the tops of her friend’s cheeks as he continued jumping up and down ecstatically. 

Zayn realized with a lurch of her stomach that she had no idea what Danny had written on her questionnaire. “Well fuck me.” 

\--

Liam hadn’t actually read the form. They were all long and most of the answers sounded about the same. In the end they’d picked randomly anyway, so when the interviewer asked him what made them choose this particular girl Liam spewed some bullshit about her sounding so nice and sweet and really down to earth. For all he knew they’d picked someone who was a self-proclaimed stalker. 

No one really expected anything to come out of this. A nice publicity stunt, that’s all it was. The call had come only days after Liam and Danielle went public with their break-up, long schedules and tours on opposite sides of the world forced them to settle on being friends. Media had been dying to set this up for months but never had all the boys single at once. Now that the four most eligible bachelors were on the market everyone wanted a glimpse at just what it would be like to date them all. One television station paid enough to get a taste and they’d have cameras sneak around on the whole thing.

\-- 

It surprised her that he was the first one to go, probably to satisfy the fans who would attempt to watch the whole date with faces pressed to Plexiglas windows and peeking over bodyguard’s shoulders. A woman from their management had called the day before, warned her that, at the end of the day, this was part publicity stunt, and there would be paparazzi and a crowd of fans, they would only be kept back so far. Zayn would have to participate in a quick photo op on each date, for the magazines that would run official photos, not including ones that would be taken without permission. She would be all over facebook, tumblr, twitter, gossip pages, people would speculate on every move made during her date, they would research her past, post personal photos, basically, until she’d completed all four dates- say goodbye to privacy. The whole thing felt overdramatic and Zayn considered backing out, but her name was already out there and if she didn’t go through there was no guarantee she wouldn’t still sit in the spotlight for a moment. 

They’re going to a nice restaurant, apparently management had already planned out all four dates, meant to reflect stereotypes about each boy. She wasn’t told where they’d go after dinner, perhaps that was it, who could expect an international pop star to give up more than a few hours for a girl who won a contest. Certainly not for Zayn. 

With the promise of so many photos she’d agonized quite a bit over her wardrobe, tomorrow she’d have to go shopping, before the next dates, in the meantime she only had one dress nice enough for their dinner, a little tighter and slinkier than she’d like; it was a few years old and she was definitely not the same size anymore. 

“Stop fretting over yourself in the mirror, your tits look great.” Danny stepped up behind her and straightened out one of the dress straps. It was black and the square neck made her breasts look like they were going to pop out at any moment. 

“It’s almost crude.” Zayn tugged pitifully at the neckline. 

“Hey. With b-cups you take all the help you can get.”

Zayn shot him a nasty look. “Stay out of my bra drawer.” He shrugged while she steadied herself on his shoulder to step into her heels, at least they were an appropriate height, tall enough to accentuate, not break an ankle. “I’m supposed to already be gone.” Zayn dug frantically for her small purse in the blankets thrown haphazardly on her bed, car keys already in hand.

“Can’t believe you have to drive yourself.”

“Don’t have to drive myself. I have to show up at the office and they’ll drive me from there, they just have to check ID and all those fun formalities.”

“Cop a good feel before the evening’s over!” Danny yelled from the front door as she ran to the car, heels in hand. 

The drive was quick, gates at the office parted for her immediately, she’s given them her license plate number earlier that day. They ushered her through the office briskly, people talked to her from all directions- smile like this, don’t do this, do do that, please don’t scream, no autographs for friends, try not to be weird, brush your hair, how about some lipstick, time to go, even if you aren’t having fun smile! 

By the time she pulled up at the restaurant her feet were hurting already. A security guy opened the door, offered her a hand and reassuring smile. As she stepped down she spotted an identical black SUV parked in front of hers, long legs slid our and screams from across the street took her attention. A crowd of girls bounced happily on their feet, waving papers and photos, calling out declarations of love and leaning heavily on the waist high barrier. Harry was already around the car headed for the crowd. He worked efficiently down the line, signing things and ducking down for quick cell phone pictures, smiling brightly and giving out more hugs than Zayn had in her whole life. A large man dressed all in black followed along behind him, hand against his lower back, ushering him along until he was moving past the fans and in front of the photographers already snapping away. 

Zayn was jerked out of her trance by a hand to her shoulder and she was pushed up beside Harry. He was a fucking pro at this, smiling and wrapping an arm around her waist to pose for pictures without even looking away from the cameras. 

She tried to smile, easily closed her eyes in ninety percent of the photos, but she wasn’t trained to take the bright flashes to the face and quickly began to feel self-conscious. He leaned a bit sideways, placing his lips close to her ear. “Let’s go inside, they’ll be at this for hours if we let them.” She took that as her cue to turn and walk towards the front door, not even glancing back to see if he followed. But she could feel him behind her, not a physical touch, just his larger than life presence close by.

They were led to a table away from the windows without a word, no cameras flashing inside, thankfully. Lighting was dim, mostly large white candles, and a glass of wine already awaited her at her seat. Zayn took a deep breath and settled into the cushioned chair, making solid eye contact with the table and trying not to look too eager and she reached for the wine. 

“Sorry, that was an awkward start to an evening, wish they could have at least done that after we ate.” Harry ducked his head into her peripheral vision and she had to look up. 

“Well maybe not doing it at all would be the best way to go about things. Personal feelings aside.” Zayn quirked a small smile when he laughed loudly. 

“Yeah, tell them they can’t take a photo, makes paparazzi crazy for a picture then. So, do you like French food? I’m a fan of this place, not that I got to pick it.”

A little liquid courage slid down her throat and settled warm in her stomach. “You’re asking a poor art student if she can afford a fancy French restaurant. I’ll give you three guesses at the answer.”

Harry slid his elbows forward, cocking his head slightly. “Should I be offended you think I’ll need three guesses?”

“For that question I’ll give you four.”

\--

“You want to really get out of here, go on what could probably be considered a date?” 

Zayn looked up from her dessert a little surprised. “Huh?”

He cracked a small smile and shrugged his shoulders. “I get the option of taking you out after dinner to somewhere else, out of public view, no photos. Not that they were going to tell you that, they want you to expect only dinner or whatnot. Well, let’s go.” He stood, holding out a hand to her. A little abrupt but his charmingly lopsided grin helped combat that part. “Unless I’ve done something to offend?”

“Oh no,” she breathed out, a little choked on her cake and tried to hastily brush her fingers on her napkin. “I’m just uh- okay, where to?” Standing took a minute, her coordination off after sitting for so long, feet giving a telling ache. At this point she’d take anywhere if it meant the shoes could come off.

“It’s a surprise!” He grabbed one of her small hands and tugged her towards the front door.

She back stepped a bit causing him to come full stop. “How are we going to get away from everyone if we leave out the front door?”

“We’ll get in our separate cars and drive off in opposite directions. But magically we’ll end up in the same place.” His eyes twinkled and he pulled her out the door. It was a quick three steps to the car, whose door Harry opened for her, and she was off, pulling away while he waved to the group of girls still gathered across the street, too nice to leave without acknowledging them again. 

When the car stopped they were outside a park she didn’t recognize. “Just wait right over there,” the driver told her, pointing towards a cast iron bench a few steps away. Harry’s car pulled up before she could sit and he fell out with a sort of gangly grace. 

“Fancy a walk in the park?” He covered the ground between them in a few long strides. 

Why not, something told her he wouldn’t mind if she was barefoot five minutes in, besides, it was a beautiful night out, the air just warm enough that she wouldn’t shiver in her small dress Harry had been gracious enough not to say a word about all evening. 

“Well in that case, right this way milady.” He held out an arm to her and she took it awkwardly. She couldn’t deny he was attractive, all that lean muscle bunched up beneath her hand with an unrestrained energy. But this was a good persona he put on to impress people, she couldn’t help but think, he was the undisputed leader when it came to press relations and, really, just charming the pants off anyone that comes near the group. 

It doesn’t stop her from stepping a little closer to him when a breeze blows by and they’ve lapsed into companionable silence. She was finding herself inexplicably drawn in, she was high on spunk but low on self-confidence, hadn’t bothered telling herself no sex, didn’t expect any real advances even if they’d had some overinflated playboy reputations. 

The chatter was companionable, comfortable. Zayn keeps forgetting who he is and how this date wasn’t even a real date, something set up by management and a television station. A brief battle plays itself out inside her head, along the line of ‘you know this isn’t real’ and ‘fuck it, you won, have some fun.’ Fun was currently winning out. 

At some point their fingers had threaded together and her heart began racing inexplicably fast. There’s a definite attraction there, why wouldn’t there be, he’s tall, tan, well-muscled, clothes stylishly disheveled, smile shining for days. He’s probably caught her staring at his lips by now. 

They’ve come to a stop and he’s stepped into her space, like he’s testing the boundary, ready to jump back if she so much as flinches. But her eyes must say something good because his long fingered hands have wrapped around her waist and lifted, easily, to set her up on the low stone wall, let him move forward into her face and press their lips together. 

It’s what she’d imagined in the brief second her imagination had as he’d lifted her. It’s soft but not awkward, his hands cupping gently at the back of her neck. She hopes she’s reading him correctly and he’s waiting on her to make the next move so she flicks the tip of her tongue against the crease in his lips, teasing. It’s all the invitation he needed, pressing forward, tongue sure and playful, teeth nipping lightly and fingers dancing on her neck like he’s drumming out some secret beat. 

She’s hanging pitifully onto the front of his shirt, probably stretching it a bit, overly conscious of the way she’s having to force her knees to not spread, worried her tight dress would hitch up inappropriately around her hips. But she’s wants to. Wants those impossibly long, obviously skilled fingers pressing deep into her, head tilted back while he mouths at her throat, his other hand splayed across her lower back to hold her forward while those fingers slide in fast and firm. 

Zayn whimpers into his kiss and he pulls back with a smile. “I like kissing,” he states, matter-of-factly, a little innocent, sweet. 

“Fuck,” she mutters, letting her forehead drop to his shoulder briefly and he pushes a bit of her long, black hair out of her face. 

“I like you,” his eyes are curious, searching, “I quite like you. This is why I went first, just in case you were sweet. I don’t mind sharing.” 

\--

Liam tuned into the entertainment news at just the right time. He figures he pulled the questionnaire, he should see who he’d picked at the same time Harry does. But he sees her first, the paparazzi zooming in as she slides out of the car.

He catches himself leaning forward, clutching the remote control in his hand a little too hard. There’s a sheet of long black hair bent into soft curls covering her face but he’s pretty focused in on her long tan legs and lean body. Her curves are encased in a black dress that he really hates at the moment, most likely because it’s blocking his view of more skin. When she stands and turns to face the camera he’s really just done with the whole thing. Her cheekbones could cut glass and her eyes are wide, slightly terrified, but akin to molten amber. 

“Oh wow, is that her? What are the odds we randomly pick and get a damn model?” Niall’s flopped down on the couch hard enough to jar Liam but not distract him. He nods some sort of agreement but he’s focused in on what he can only articulate as exotic beauty. 

“You think that’s even really her?” Niall continues. “Probably had one girl picked out the whole time, let us think we were choosing.” 

Liam doesn’t think that’s the case. She looks far too uncomfortable with the photo op, her smile wobbly and quick to flinch when too many flashes go off at one time. He must be leaning too far forward in his seat because Niall’s got a hand on his shoulder telling him he’ll get his turn soon enough. 

Liam isn’t sure soon enough is quite soon enough. 

\--

The sharing comment went straight to her insides, lighting some painful fire she didn’t know how to handle. They’d exchanged a few more words that found her laid out spread eagle on his bed. They’re both naked and one of his hands is splayed across her belly, pressing down gently while his tongue works rapidly against her clit, fingers curling inside her just enough that she arches up with a gasp. 

Harry’s so slow, sensual, getting close to ask, “how’s that?” More than a little cheeky but genuinely trying to gauge her reactions and fucking learning from them so quickly she’s going to die if he keeps touching her. He pulls away and she’s moaning at the loss, but he’s back so quickly she wonders if he ever left and rolls them onto their sides. His mouth works across her jaw, pausing to scrape teeth over the pulse point on her neck and Zayn clutches tighter at the bunched up muscles across his back. 

A hand slips under her knee and lifts so her top leg is in the air and he can enter her in one press of his hips, causing her breath to hitch. It’d been so long since she’d been properly fucked she’d almost forgotten how good it could be. Her and Danny occasionally got a little too sloshed, slept together and laughed it off the next morning, other than that her dating life had suffered exponentially since entering uni.

He’s shifting and, oh fuckshitfuck, she’s clutching the pillow beside her head so hard her fingers are cramping. She’s still on her side but Harry’s on his knees, her top leg held up across his chest almost draping over his shoulder so he can sink in deep, can reach down and rub a thumb over her clit until she’s shuddering around him, a lock of hair plastered to her sweaty forehead, eyes screwed shut and mouth open but no sound coming out. Zayn’s clenching around his cock so hard she can’t imagine it isn’t hurting him but he just shudders and moves his thumb faster, working her through it with low murmurs of ‘shit’ and ‘gorgeous’ and ‘so tight.’ 

His hands are just so fucking huge on her hips that she feels almost too wet, but he grabs her and manhandles Zayn onto her back. Harry’s still on his knees but he’s lifting her hips up into him, her shoulders barely touching the mattress as he lifts with every drive down. 

The scent of sex is thick around her, she’s half worried she won’t be able to get it out of her nose by the time she goes on her date with Niall tomorrow night and wouldn’t that just be grand. When they left the park Harry’s security guard had made a semi-covert attempt to discourage him from taking Zayn home. “You don’t want her to know where you live.”

He’d whispered in her ear, “I think I can trust you not to sell my address on the internet.”

“What about the other boys,” the guy had implored, like he was unsure how worried he should be.

“Wouldn’t be the first time we shared like this.” And it wasn’t sleazy sounding, like they’d passed some poor girl around as candy. Zayn was pretty sure they were all so enamoring that anyone would willingly fall into each one’s bed, something she suddenly finds herself considering without even meeting the others, without their input on the subject.

She’s practically writhing from the thought and he’s totally on board with that. “Let’s go for a second one yeah?”

And yeah, who is she to say no? Not that she’s getting much choice in the matter because he’s fucking into her hard enough to bruise. The fast rhythm he’s set is beginning to flag but he’s still punching small, desperate noises out of her. Then he pulls out, working a hand over himself until he’s spilling across her stomach, dragging the head of his dick through the mess and smiling up at her like he’s so fucking proud of himself. And he should be, because he’s shifted down fast, shoving three fingers into her, teeth scraping at the insides of her quivering thighs, free hand smearing his cum across her belly, licking at one finger before bringing his mouth to where he’s pressing inside her. 

Zayn grabs desperately at his curly hair, he seems to revel in light tugs. He is so earnest, almost innocent, until he’s doing things like tasting himself and her head is spinning, too turned on to process his fucking kinky side. Because, quite frankly, he was working her like a damned expert and she thanked all the older women the media had ever linked him to. 

Her second orgasm that night hit like a football to the face, blinding even with her eyes closed. She arches up hard enough to dislodge him but he’s quick on the uptake, crawling forward to cover her mouth with his, inhaling her pitiful moan and sliding her wetness up to mingle with his cum, fingers dancing dirty and wet up her body. 

The wind down is slow, both of them breathing heavily, only barely touching because it was just too hot to tangle together right now. She wants to take advantage of the moment, explore the tattoos scattered across his skin, take a mental picture of his long, lean muscle, put her lips around his half-hard dick, taste herself on him. She’s just getting around to being able to conceive making these thoughts reality when he gets up and disappears through a nearby door. She hears running water and he returns with a damp washcloth, blessedly cool as he sits beside her and wipes her skin clean. 

“Much appreciated,” she murmurs.

He grins cheekily. “I clean up my own messes.”

The sheets under her ass are damp and he waves away her concern, he knows how to work a washing machine he assures her. Something about that strikes Zayn as very mature. She is used to the guy who rolls to the other side of the bed to sleep. The guy who tosses her a few tissues and a pillow before drifting off. She never experienced a guy who washed the sheets afterwards, especially one who attests he knows how to do the wash. Fame had done more than give him money. It had taken him out of his home at a young age, had made him take on some small, but entirely important, grown up roles. 

Zayn is comfortable, sedate, staring up at a lamp lit ceiling, relishing the hum of pleasure thrumming through her body. The bed shifts next to her and she rolls towards the dip on instinct, long fingers threading through hers and squeezing. 

It takes about two seconds for her to sit up and jerk back. She feels briefly sick at the hurt look on his face. But she wasn’t rejecting him, wants to tell him that, can’t get the words out. She’s thinking about the next day. The next weekend. The week between her two sets of dates where she’ll think about his muscles bunching up under her fingertips, his tongue twining around hers. She’ll think about how she’s a poor art student who he’s going to say goodbye to and never speak with again. They’ll move on because they’re not dating, she’s a blind date set up by a television station and no good publicity would come from him dating her. She’s thinking about her earlier decision to have fun and maybe she’s crossed into too much fun.

“Sorry,” she mutters, unable to voice even one of the feelings currently gnawing at her gut. 

His expression turns sympathetic and she figures he’s on her wavelength now. “I like you,” he says, soft, taking her hand back in his. “I hope you have fun with the other guys.” She begins to cringe again but he holds fast at her hand. “I think, if you want, this will be the start of a pretty awesome friendship.” There’s something in his words that suggests he’s not telling the whole story but that she’ll find out what he means eventually. 

He spends a little while longer tracing invisible patterns across her belly, focusing on the black ink spread across her ribcage, a large, elegant design she’d sketched out one day in class and later transferred permanently to her body. They’re quiet up until she suggests she might need some sleep if she’s going to rise at a decent hour tomorrow. 

He’s gathering her clothes off the floor and handing them off while she dresses, slipping into some sweatpants and a tee shirt. She feels a walk of shame vibe, still in her little black dress while he’s post-sex comfort clothes, despite the hour still being decent. Harry offers to drive her home and she replies that would be a terrible idea. The paps would be all over a glimpse of him driving her home before she goes on dates with the rest of his band. Besides, her car is still at the office and she needs it for tomorrow. 

It’s ten minutes before the car he calls arrives and she sneaks out the backdoor, on her request not his, and in that time they chat about nothing. It is comfortable tinged with something she can’t read and doesn’t want to try. 

When she gets home she drops her purse at the front door, leaves her shoes scattered across the hallway, and glances only momentarily at her own bedroom door before crawling under Danny’s covers and plastering herself to his side. 

His voice is sleep thick and his eyes don’t open as he wraps an arm around her. “Did you have a good date?”

“Amazing.” Zayn shifts to pull her bare feet under the covers. 

“Are you happy?”

Zayn presses her face into his chest, inhaling deep the comforting scent of pot smoke and paint, a little tea he probably spilled on his shirt while getting ready for bed and soap. “No.”


	2. Chapter 2

She wakes up and it’s still early. Sunlight streams through a crack in the curtains and she feels a little hung over, groggy as she shifts upright. A door bangs against the nearby wall and she jumps as Danny strolls in, jeans on but hair still wet and spiky. 

“’Morning sunshine.”

“Fuck off.” Zayn flops back into the sheets, yanking a pillow over her head. Danny’s tugging it back down, trying hard to get in her face. 

“Who shat in your cereal this morning?”

“I slept with him,” she mutters into the crook of her elbow. 

Danny looks far too happy with the development and leans forward, pulls her arm out of the way, and plants a kiss on her lips. 

Zayn rolls away and slaps his wandering hand. “The fuck Riach?”

“Sorry,” he shrugs, “figured that was my chance to put my mouth where Harry Styles’ dick has been.”

Zayn huffs, face going red. “Wasn’t in my mouth, asshole. And we only kiss when we’re drunk so keep your lips off me.”

He nods out an apology but his grin is still mischievous. “So were you drunk last night when you slept with him?”

“No!” she yowls, tossing a pillow in his general direction. “Had only one glass of wine with dinner. I can’t deal with you right now, you’re particularly dick-ish this morning.”

Danny shrugs and heads out of the room. “What can I say, I took my dickhead pills today.”

It takes a pretty monumental effort for Zayn to drag herself off the bed, wrinkling her nose at the half unzipped dress twisted around her body. In her bedroom across the hall Danny has deposited the purse and shoes she’d left lying about last night onto her bed.

Her phone dings and a text message pops up with the contact name ‘Harry Styles.’ 

Have fun tonight, Nialler gets a little nervous at first, be gentle with him ;)

Zayn taps out a quick who is this? as her stomach flip flops.

Put my number in your phone last night, that okay?

Someone’s fucking with me, she thinks, gripping the phone with both hands. Prove it.

There’s a good time lapse and she figures she’d scared the person off, starts to get ready for a shower when it dings again. 

Had to wear a shirt on my run this morning. Didn’t want to advertise to the world that you’re a scratcher.

The bottom drops out of her stomach and yeah, maybe she’d been a little overzealous with her nails on his back last night. Sorry.

\--

When the management calls her around noon they tell her to dress comfortably, they’d be going to a fair in town tonight. And shit, that sounds terrible. She knows Niall is the one band member who really dislikes crowds and how do they control fans when fairs are filled with people? They certainly can’t close down a whole fair for them like they’d done with the restaurant last night. 

She’s cross-legged on the floor bent over a canvas. Her hair is wadded in a messy bun atop her head and paint streaks her forearms and stains her fingernails. When she answered the phone she’d absentmindedly set the paintbrush on her knee, smearing her favorite sweatpants with a glob of green paint. 

Zayn flops onto her back with a groan. Showering feels like a terrible idea. She’s already done it once today, just after waking up, but now she’s a mess and why had painting felt like a good way to calm her nerves again? 

She finally settles on a good scrub with a washcloth over the bathroom sink and liberal application of a hairbrush before pulling her hair back into a ponytail. Comfortable sounds deceptively easy as she digs through her closet and tries on at least five outfits before squeezing into her tightest jeans and a slouchy shirt. Her hope is that she looks effortlessly laid back, her suspicion is that she’s obviously trying very hard. 

The sun’s already reaching hard towards the horizon by the time she’s finished trying to cover the dark circles under her eyes and scours the house frantically for the matching shoe to the one currently on her right foot. Danny watches apathetically from the table. “What time you gonna be home tonight?” he asks, taking a bite of what she suspects is the sandwich she made for herself earlier but never ate. 

“Probably no later than midnight, if it’s morning and I’m not home send the search parties.” 

\--

So they can’t close down a whole fair for them, but they can come pretty fucking close, apparently. There’s maybe fifty cars in the parking lot and she’s betting a good number of them are girls hanging around outside not allowed in. 

When the car pulls up she sees a small crowd of girls milling about, seemingly calm while Niall stands with two paper cups chatting amiably. She’s lead up to him and Niall notices her almost immediately. 

“Hot chocolate?” Niall opens with, offering her one of the cups and she accepts it with a nod. It’s a little warm out for hot drinks but the gesture is not lost. 

“Hi Zayn!” A few of the girls chirp. Zayn waves awkwardly, she was more than a little uncomfortable with the familiarity but had been warned this would happen. The boys were very open to mixing with their fans as long as things did not get out of hand and these dates would be no exception. If she asked for fans to be kept at a further distance it would definitely be seen as a reflection on her, and she’d be damned if their fans were not a perceptive bunch. 

“Come on,” Niall gestures her towards the open gate.

She steps near him uncertainly, the group of girls backing off slightly, obviously told early on they could not follow. “What about the photos?”

Niall waves her off with a small grin. “They want candids, they’ll take them while we walk about, no posing tonight.” And oh, okay. Zayn wasn’t sure how she felt about that but she’d have to deal. At least with the photos at the beginning she could get them over with, now they’d be followed around the whole night, giving Zayn no chance to protect against pictures of her pulling some pretty unattractive faces. 

Inside it certainly feels like they’re being left to their own devices, no one on their heels and no photographers obvious to her untrained eye. There were enough people inside to make her feel less awkward, mostly families with smaller children or older couples. Niall chats easily enough, not the natural small talker Harry is but enough for Zayn to bounce off him comfortably. 

“Where do you want to start?” Niall asks, gesturing to the brightly lit rides and booths full of food, games, stuffed animals, everyone beckoning them closer. 

Zayn shrugs and points to the nearest ride. “I could fancy a spin on the teacups.”

\--

“Shouldn’t be telling you about this, should make you wait your turn.”

“Harry, Harry, come now, don’t hold out on us,” Louis is practically twisted in half, worming his way across the couch, contorting himself until Harry takes pity on him, or wants to shut up his whining. 

Harry huffs once, pushing Louis away with a hand to his forehead and Louis bounces back dramatically, bumping into Liam’s legs. “Fine, one more thing. Her tits are great, small but firm, they move just right when you really fuck into her.” Harry’s got both hands up, cupping air and Louis dissolves into laughs but Liam’s shifting uncomfortably. 

He doesn’t want to talk about this right now. Probably ever really. Harry had come barging into his flat early this morning, dragging Louis along, practically gushing about his previous night. It wasn’t that Liam didn’t expect anything to happen between them, they’d all said anything goes on the dates, if the girl was fit they could pursue her with no hard feelings, if they weren’t into it they’d be their charming selves and end the publicity stunt as just that. But seeing her on his television last night had left Liam a little conflicted.

The intensity with which he wanted to crawl through the screen and touch her hair, her cheek, her legs, startled him. Liam had found himself a little jealous, that Harry was there with her, arm around her waist, smiling for the cameras while Liam sat his happy ass on the couch and waited for the next weekend. And when Harry told them about how sweet and genuine and smart she was Liam became infatuated. When Harry told them about how good she tasted, how well her body moved, how she kissed like she was drowning in it and he’d come harder than he could remember Liam became done with the whole thing. Done with waiting. Done with sharing. Done with thinking he might not get to experience every part of her in one night the same way his bandmate had and now he’s too frustrated to even talk. 

“’Scuse me,” Liam murmurs, standing abruptly. He leaves an oblivious Harry and Louis, who’ve already moved on to video games, in his living room and walks out the back door. A little fresh air, he just needs to clear his head with a nice cold breeze. 

\--

They’ve been in the ferris wheel line for around ten minutes when Niall offers her a nip from a small flask tucked in his pocket, a little something to make her hot chocolate more exciting. Zayn needs a little loosening up and if the Irishman can’t slip her something good than who can? 

By the time they’re settling into the small bench seat Zayn’s cheeks are glowing with warmth. She’s had almost no alcohol but the placebo effect is coursing full force through her veins and Zayn lets him wrap an arm around her waist. The large metal structure squeaks something fierce as it starts a slow backwards descent up and corny music quickly covers it. 

“Harry told me you were a whiskey fan,” Niall laughs as she swings her feet just enough to get the carriage rocking. 

Zayn is more than mildly interested in what else he’d told him, but can’t bring herself to ask. Awkward threatens to begin radiating off her skin as they creak to a stop at the top, she’s determined to break it before it starts and she stands, hands wrapped tightly around the bar holding her in. “Top of the world!” she shouts, not loud enough to be heard over the music but enough to elicit giggles from them both and Niall yanks her back into his lap, arm tightly wrapped around her middle.

“You’re mental! Guess I’m just going to have to hold onto you until we get back on solid ground.” Niall’s chin rests gently on her shoulder and Zayn is in no mind to argue.

Her adrenaline spiked, thrumming through her body enough to speed up her breathing. Zayn would never have thought to do that before, not that she’s particularly scared of heights or falling, but any kind of real outburst is foreign to her. Now though, now she’s feeling more and more like she wants in on whatever Harry had been promising her last night, wants to know just what they’re all going to start if things get on well. 

Off the ferris wheel, Zayn lets Niall lead her to the house of mirrors, accepting his “we should probably hold hands so we don’t get lost,” as a good enough reason to step inside. 

“You’re right,” she replies, threading her fingers through his, “wouldn’t want you to wander away.” 

Zayn begins to progressively emasculate him, so to speak, protecting him from the skeleton that pops out as they leave the mirror house (“Fuck,” Niall screeches, “this isn’t supposed to be a haunted house for christ’s sake!”), wins him not one but two stuffed bears at the ring toss when he flounders, and holds his hand extra tight when the little kiddie coaster twists upside down momentarily and his eyes squeeze shut. Niall doesn’t seem to mind in the least. Wearing the bears propped up on his shoulders, telling her she protected him from damn near falling out of that roller coaster who lets children on those things anyways? 

The night is winding down and as people begin to file out the exit, a few muster up the courage to ask Niall for a picture or an autograph. Zayn takes the opportunity to step back and watch him work, notice the curve in his shoulders as he stoops to the younger fans. The way his smile stretches across his whole face and laugh takes his entire body to properly execute. She wants to move forward and ease a hand around his waist, bunch the soft material of his tee shirt up in her fingers and tug him back into her. 

But she watches and waits. She’s gotten enough of his time this evening, allowing the fans who’d left them alone all night to finally capture a moment of his attention. 

“Are you going to kiss her?” a little girl half whispers to him and Zayn snorts out a laugh. 

Niall leans closer to the little girl, tugging one of her blonde pigtails and whispers conspiratorially, “I don’t know, do you think I should?”

“Yes!” the girl shrieks, her mother settling a calming hand on her shoulder. 

But Niall just laughs and tugs Zayn over by her hand, leaning in to plant a noisy kiss to her cheek. The little girl gasps and dissolves into a fit of giggles, clapping her hands furiously. “She’s your girlfriend now.”

“Is that right?” Niall responds, winking at Zayn.

“Yep,” the small girl replies, very seriously, “but it’s okay because she’s pretty. Like a princess.” 

A hug and a picture later the girl’s parents lead her away and they’re suddenly left to their own devices. “Well,” Niall says, leaning closer and lowering his voice, “you’re not ready to call it quits on the evening just yet are you, princess?” 

\--

He invited her to sit on the couch with a pat of the cushion. Unlike the rest of the flat, which is well kept and nicely decorated, the couch looks worn and comfortable, like something brought from home, a bit of nostalgia. He’d been giggly the whole car ride over, insisting they take the same car to his place, he’d lay in the floorboard and no one would know better. She’d agreed because, honestly, he’d been slipping whisky into both their hot chocolates all night from a small flask and Zayn was just tipsy enough to agree. 

“Come’ere,” Niall chirped, practically tipping over bending down to dig under the couch. “Got a surprise for you.”

Zayn’s too curious to say no. She sits on her knees beside him, wiggling down into the cushions and leaning her side against the back. 

“Lou picked this up for me yesterday, said it was fucking ace.” He’s pulling a small baggie out of a box he’s retrieved and a swirly red bowl that looks far too expensive for smoking pot out of. “You cool?”

Shit. Nothing sounds better in that very moment than a solid high when she’s just shy of drunk and her body’s already buzzing. “Yeah, yeah.”

Niall grins and scoots closer so their knees are touching. “You done it before?”

“No,” she lies for no real reason. But then he tells her he’ll help her out and maybe she’d unconsciously expected that, in which case well done self. 

He’s got the bowl packed in record time, or her head’s spinning too fast to tell otherwise, and he takes a quick hit before really crowding in. “You just have to breathe in, deep okay, hold it long as you can to really make it good.” Zayn nods and grabs at his thighs because she wants him to just get on with it already and she may be a little wobbly. 

Niall breathes in deep on his next hit, long and slow, and Zayn’s slightly confused until he sets it aside and twines fingers around the back of her neck. When she realizes what’s happening their lips meet quickly, Zayn breathing in before he’s even ready to share. They both end up laughing and only Niall coughs on the exhale. 

“You’ve done that before, liar.” 

“Guilty,” Zayn murmurs, “every damn day.” And she’s stolen the bowl from his side, sucking in and pressing their lips together again, this time exhaling slowly, letting the smoke curl between them, one of her hands forcing his jaw open so she can chase the last tendrils with her tongue. Niall moans and holds onto her, pressing into the kiss for a few moments longer than necessary. 

He slips the bowl from her slack palm and uses one arm to pull her into his lap. Her legs slot themselves easily around his body. This time when he takes a hit, his lips skirt over hers then travel down her neck, across her collarbone, warm smoke trailing across the sensitive skin of her chest. At the end of his exhale he scrapes teeth over her pulse point and sucks, pressing the bowl into her palm. There’s probably only one hit left and she wastes it easily, choking on her breath when his hands slip under her shirt, fingers digging urgently into her back. 

Zayn’s riding a solid high, leaning heavily into his touches, head rolling back. “Sit back on the couch,” he murmurs into the skin under her ear and pushes at her hips. Zayn rolls off him a bit sloppy and relaxes into the cushions, eyes heavy but skin warm, seeking contact. She wants him pressed to her, he’s warm and soft, liberal with his teeth and nails in a way that makes her want to beg.

And then she’s lifting her hips, aiding him in slipping her tight jeans down trembling legs. He’s kneeling between her legs, shooting her a lopsided smile before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her. “Wet already,” he murmurs, stroking fingers up her thighs. And he’s tasting her now, long strokes of his tongue up her cunt, twining one hand with hers when she reaches down to grab at him. “Pierced, fucking hell.” Niall let’s his teeth click lightly against the small curved bar above her clit and grins.

Fuck he’s good. Kitten licks trailing up to her clit before latching on and sucking. “Fingers,” she gasps out, “please.” Zayn’s legs spread wider to accommodate his broad shoulders, melting as he presses two fingers in fast. His mouth keeps travelling, teeth scraping across her thigh, up to her belly, down along the sensitive skin above her clit. 

He’s rocking his hips forward against the front of the couch, allowing her to grab at his short hair and pull his face tighter against her. She’s making little movements to meet the twist of his fingers which crook up enough to elicit sharp sounds from her throat. Zayn can’t help but think about how she’s sober, she’s a bit high and a little tipsy but nowhere near unable to make decisions about her actions. She’s rushed headlong into Niall fucking her with his tongue like some kind of pussy eating champion and doesn’t even consider backing out until he’s come over her face or back. Thoughts of Harry’s dick inside of her should change things but they don’t, they don’t because he told her he could share, told her they were starting something that she would definitely enjoy and she’s really hoping this is it. 

A sharp sensation shoots through her belly when Niall’s teeth just press to her clit, thighs tightening around his head and hips jerking. He smiles up at her and murmurs out a quick, “yeah?” before doing it again, alternating between teeth and tongue and sucking and she’s falling apart, pulling on his hair, riding his face, gasping till she clenches around his fingers. 

He’s not wasting time letting her relax back, jumping to his feet and pulling her up to meet him. Somewhere in the pot-tinged fumbling his pants are off and she’s bent over the back of the couch. One of his arms wraps under her, pulling her into him hard, setting a relentless rhythm that punches the breath out of her. Zayn presses her face into the top of the cushion and she really wants to kiss him, but he wraps her ponytail around his hand and pulls. 

Niall’s riding her, one hand tugging at her hair, the other comfortable, possessive against her throat and she’s beginning to think this band is made up of some kind of sex gods. With Harry’s enthusiasm and Niall’s reckless abandon, Zayn’s not sure she’ll be able to go back to mediocre sex. 

And then he’s pulling her up by her throat, back pressed firm against his chest, his lips trailing along her jaw. “Gonna come for me again?” She nods and he holds tight to her hair while his other hand works over her, thumb circling her clit in rhythm with his hips. 

When she cries out, clenching around him and beginning to go boneless, he bends her back over the couch, pumping his hips one, two, three more times before pulling out. Wetness streaks across her back and Niall lands a quick slap to her ass before bending down to kiss the tan skin. 

“Fuck,” he whispers and she echoes the sentiment. Niall picks up his discarded tee shirt and wipes her clean before tumbling her over the back of the couch onto the cushions. He walks around to lay down beside her and pulls her close, pressing lazy kisses to her lips. 

\--

It’s somewhere around half-past eight and her phone is losing its shit, ringing and trying valiantly to vibrate off the coffee table. Zayn groans and burrows deeper into the warm skin under her cheek, too comfortable to crack open her sleep glued shut eyes. The ringing stops for a good minute before starting up again. Whoever’s on the other end obviously feels like persistence pays off so she reaches towards it. Her hand falls short, unable to grab at the charging cord usually hanging off her bedside table and hauling it to her. 

“What the fuck?” A sleepy voice murmurs and everything beneath her shifts. One of Zayn’s hands reaches forward to brace herself as she pushes up and the voice turns slightly indignant. “That’s m’face.” 

Shit. She pulls her arm back and realizes with a literal jerk than she’s draped naked over Niall, still sprawled out on his couch, and sunlight streaking through the living room windows. The panic leaves her crashing to the floor with no more than a bruised ass and ego. 

“G’morning,” he says, peering down at her from the couch, mega-watt smile brightening his face. 

“Oh fuck,” she blurts, frantically scrambling for her still ringing phone. 

He shrugs and twirls a piece of her hair around his fingers. “I could go again this morning, yeah.”

“No,” she half-moans, caller ID shouting _Danny_ at her barely focused eyes. “I stayed the night.”

“Did you now? Would’ve never guessed.” 

She side eyes him and mutters something about fuckers and hush before answering. 

_”Zayn! Where are you? I’ll come get you.”_

“What? No, no. Danny shut up. I’m fine. Go back to bed and leave me alone.” She hangs up and Danny calls again but she doesn’t answer. Niall’s lounging on the couch, blanket falling around his hips, paler in the morning sun than last night’s lamp warm light. 

“Danny?” he asks, eyes closed now, setting back into the cushions, obviously intent on returning to sleep.

“Roommate,” Zayn replies, scouring the floor for her missing clothes. “The hell is my shirt?” She reaches up and half tips Niall off the couch, pulling her clothing out from under his back. “Why were we sleeping on my shit?”

“Can’t afford blankets.” Zayn shoots him a nasty glance and he laughs. “Kidding. Need a ride home? Breakfast first?” 

Her stomach grumbles and Zayn considered breakfast for all of ten seconds. “No. I have to get home before my roommate starts hanging missing person posters.” She’s a little sore when she stands, more than a little in need of a shower but willing to wait until home to do so. 

Niall ends up coaxing her into some tea before calling her a car to take her to her car, helping her sneak out the back entrance to his flat and kissing her cheek before scurrying back inside. 

The ride to her car is quick but it seems to take her days to drive home, eyes heavy with sleep and body over relaxed for all the conflicting emotions her brain is throwing around. Home is silent and she’d bet anything Danny’s gone back to bed after his initial freak out. She undresses slowly, too lazy to even crawl under the covers. 

Her door opens and Danny’s head pops in. “Oh finally, you’re home.” Halfway through closing the door he mutters a quick, “nice bum,” and he’s gone. Zayn grumbles and starts to pull a blanket over herself when she looks back and sees it. It could be from anything, a slightly bruising if someone looked at it quickly, but she knows and can pick out the faint red handprint shape marking one side of her ass. 

This band is going to be the death of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look me up on tumblr! [ odietamo53](http://odietamo53.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took forever and ever. I broke my foot/ankle and had surgery and then moved to England for grad school so I've been a bit busy. Promise next installment won't take quite so long.

She wakes up two days in a row groggy and heavy limbed. Irritation rolls through her stomach before her mind catches up to her emotions. 

The problem is her complete and utter satisfaction. Besides her sour stomach, her body’s pleasured humming is just petering out. She’s pleasantly sore, muscles aching in all the right places to flash memories of two good fucks in a row, two guys she was never supposed to sleep with to begin with. 

“Good morning sunshine,” Danny’s voice is softer than usual lately, he creeps in slowly, carrying a plate and flicking open the blinds on the way. “Any reason you’re living in a cave today?” Zayn shrugs, flopping back into the pillows. The bed dips as he settles into the open space, prodding her with the plate. “You come in like a bat out of hell this morning after I called and I got a little concerned you were going to starve to death.”

“Ha ha,” Zayn mutters, sitting up in bed. After collapsing face first into her pillow this morning she’d barely moved, getting up long enough to throw on some shorts and a tee-shirt. “Can’t believe I slept with both of them.”

“Is that what’s got you so down today?” Danny asks, pressing the plate of toast into her hands.

Zayn shrugs, it seems to be her preferred method of communication today. 

“That’s bullshit. You should be great, ecstatic, you wouldn’t look so thoroughly fucked if you didn’t enjoy yourself, so stop moping about.”

“But-“

“Did they want to do it? Did you want to do it? Did anyone at any point in time object? Then stop acting like a twat.” Obviously Danny’s into asking the real questions today and Zayn considers punching him. 

\--

Liam’s twitching like bolts of electricity are popping off under his skin and he rubs furiously at his thighs. Louis’ been teasing him mercilessly for days, poking especially hard at his late-night wanking session that turned out louder than Liam’d expected.

“You’re a man possessed Payno.” Louis is currently kicking at Liam’s shins from his spot perched on the low coffee table. “All bent up over a bird you’ve never met.”

“I’m not all bent up!”

Louis lets out a loud snort and kicks hard enough to earn a punch in the shoulder. “S’okay, I’m here for you mate. Fit lady like this, she might eat you alive. Did you see the legs on her? She’ll get’em wrapped around you, fingers pressing into your big, broad shoulders and you? Oh you may choke. My poor little Liam.” 

Liam shoves to his feet, pushing Louis away with a hand to his forehead but Louis just sprawls back dramatically on the table. “Prick.” He stalks towards the kitchen then thinks better of it, might as well take care of the semi he’d distressingly developed during his friend’s speech. 

“What was that?” Louis shouted, glee etched across his face.

“Prick!” Liam shouted, slamming the door behind him. 

\--

Zayn’s week felt like one small inconvenience after another. They built up around her like expertly placed dominos, ready to cascade one by one with a single wrong move. Now her car wasn’t starting and she was throwing in the towel. Two slammed doors and a thrown purse later she was face down on her bedroom floor ready to mope about the injustice of it all.

“You’re going to be late for class.”

“Go’way,” Zayn said into the carpet. 

“Lay out from class, okay, but don’t be getting all fussy, you’ve got a date tonight.” The bottoms of Danny’s shoes appeared in Zayn’s peripheral. 

“M’not going.”

“Like hell you’re not.”

“This day sucks. This week sucks. Gonna stay in bed.” She swatted half-heartedly at his leg. 

“No, you’re going to get all dolled up, go out with Liam Payne, and get pissed in the process. In fact, get him pissed too and get some photographic evidence, I feel like he’s a giggly drunk.” 

“I hate you.”

Danny stands and bends down to pat her head gently. “I know. Now get up and go buy a new dress or something, you need to look good, might as well continue your streak of getting laid on these dates right?”

Zayn ends up buying a new skirt, leather that sits high on her hips so she can tuck in a loose band tee in hopes of looking a bit like a rock star. By the time she has to leave for her date she is no less irritable and in desperate need of something to wind her down. 

That’s how she shows up with one beer and half a joint thrumming through her system, a little more pliant, easy to deal with. Liam’s quieter than the others, spending a good deal of time attempting to stare at her surreptitiously from under long lashes. 

Zayn’s still antsy with a glass of wine in her, tired of these dates that don’t feel like dates. She’s ready to end the management run portion of tonight and move on to the exciting bits. If Liam wants to. The realization hits her that he might not wish to take her home or for some silly romantic walk in the park. He may want to place her in her car and wave her off with a polite smile before calling up his bandmates and asking them what the fuss was all about. That’s assuming they’d made a fuss at all. She’s working herself up while Liam’s mid-sentence, lifting her wineglass and throwing her head back to drain it, embarrassed to find it empty. 

“Would you like another glass?” Liam lifts his hand to signal the waiter but Zayn shakes her head emphatically. There’s a band playing on stage and the lights are low enough that the waiter probably wouldn’t even see Liam, but she reaches out to press his hand to the table anyway. 

“No,” Zayn says, hair falling into her face for the fifth time tonight and she’s tempted to sweep it up into a ponytail. “I’m thinking maybe it’s time to cut me off for the night.” 

Liam’s cheeks flush bright red and the corners of his mouth twitch. “Oh. Really? Because I was thinking maybe we’d hang out a little longer.” He trails off a bit awkwardly and Zayn feels a little bad for him. 

The truth is she’s a little surprised. She’s been a less than thrilling date for the evening and he’s been nothing but pleasant and charming. Suddenly she’s considering that second glass of wine. 

“I know this pub down the street, laidback, no one will bother us-.”

“Let’s go.” Zayn’s standing abruptly, her head spinning. She suddenly wants out of here now, the band a little too loud and the other patrons sneaking glances at them constantly. Nothing sounds better than a pub right now, maybe a pint is what she needs to settle her stomach, third alcoholic drink’s the charm right? 

Liam follows with a bewildered look, tossing a wad of cash onto the table that makes Zayn’s insides twitch and she almost stumbles into the cool night air. The sidewalk is like a brick wall stopping her in her tracks. Zayn sways a moment before a warm hand wraps around her elbow and leads her gently down the street. 

Her stomach slowly unknots during the short walk as Liam chats amiably, seemingly content to let her just listen. Zayn likes that. She’s a bit quieter than most, preferring to communicate through well places expressions and emphatic gestures. This whole week she’s dealt with the same heavy, shifting rocks sitting in her stomach. At first she’d thought it’d been guilt. Zayn’d never slept with two different people in two nights, much less two close friends who would inevitably talk about her. It was later when she’d realized it wasn’t guilt but some kind of fucked up infatuation. She liked them both. Really liked them. Enough that Zayn couldn’t get them off her mind, dreamt about them, touched herself thinking of them, fielded texts from them that left her giddy and grinning. 

Now she’s out with one of their friends and she’s worried the already overcrowded list of people invited to the party in her pants is going to grow. On the drive to management’s office Zayn had promised herself she wouldn’t fall for him, definitely wouldn’t sleep with him, and would do everything in her power to be just nice enough that she wasn’t offensive but not so much that he may like her. 

Except he’d said pub and she couldn’t bring herself to say no because getting pissed had been on her mind all night long. 

Zayn didn’t drink much, wasn’t really her thing. She liked cigarettes and weed and rough sex so she figured might as well leave one vice out of her everyday life. That’s how she ended up swaying against Liam two pints in. To be fair she’d had two drinks earlier and even if they were already out of her system she was determined to count them. 

Liam’s giggling at something she can’t remember saying and she thinks about shooting Danny a text confirming his suspicions about the boy drunk. He comes back with some inevitably stupid reply she doesn’t hear so much as feel, his lips skimming the shell of her ear and when Zayn looks over at him he’s smoldering. 

She’s mildly panicked and internally flailing to get him out of his comfort zone, put them on some kind of even playing field here. Knock that smug smirk off his face. 

Zayn can’t remember for the life of her whose idea the karaoke bar had been. It’s trashy and filled with so many drunk uni students Zayn couldn’t be half-assed to care about a fan seeing them. They’d weaved more than walked to their new location. But they’re planted in a booth sticky with something unidentifiable and balls deep in a game of trying to one up each other. 

She can’t say for sure, but Zayn’s going to go with that as the reason she’s stumbling up the three short stage stairs, handing the pseudo-dj her iPod and taking up the microphone with a flourish reserved only for her drunken antics. 

\--

The alcohol had really hit him during their time at the pub. Liam’s tolerance was less than ideal with his late introduction to alcohol and pissed was the last state he wanted to end up in on his date. 

He’d been itched for this night all week, a little too excited if Louis’ word was anything to go by. Liam had spent the evening trying to knock Zayn off the mental pedestal he’d placed her on but she was stuck fast. 

Something felt off, something standoffish in a way Harry and Niall hadn’t mentioned, Liam had to assume it had everything in the world to do with him. They’d kept drinking, past the point Liam would have chosen but she’d began challenging him and he was utterly charmed. So he let her keep ordering, matching her drink for drink until she’d suggested a venue change. He’d twined his fingers through hers as she propelled herself unsteadily down the street, he had an idea she didn’t know where she was going but said nothing. 

The neon sign flashing ‘karaoke’ might as well have screamed ‘trouble’ every time someone opened the door. Liam went along compliantly though, taking the inside of the booth and grinning slightly when she slid in far enough for her thigh to press against his. 

“-can out-sing you lads any day, someone’s gotta deflate that big head of yours.” Zayn’s finger poked the center of his chest, a glancing blow really. 

She seemed to sputter slightly when he raised an eyebrow and when he laughed she shoved to her feet a little violently. Liam’s hands shot out to catch her but she seemed to steady and her amber eyes wavered only slightly as she leaned close to speak in his ear. “Gonna show you how right I am an’ you’re gonna bow at my feet.” 

The opening lines to an R&B song he didn’t know started as she settled in on stage, a few people cheering before Zayn had opened her mouth. Her voice had a rich quality to it that Liam felt in his bones. He was gripping the edges of the table without realizing it, relishing in the way his whole body responded to her singing. 

The band had been together for years now, they knew each other like brothers, melded together in a way no one else would be able to comprehend. But all this time Liam had felt something off. Felt something missing, something small but at the same time so very large it occasionally consumed all his thoughts. They performed on stage in front of thousands and they were good, flying high, but something tugged at the very corners of his mind, made the harmonies feel just so slightly off, the high notes he or Harry would strain for just short. The last tendrils of the song in front of him trailed off before he realized it was Zayn. It was all Zayn. The harmonies and high notes and missing piece of their crooked messed up puzzle. It was all Zayn and Liam’s got to make sure it’s true or he’s going to never forgive himself. 

So he rushes forward, catches her coming off stage a wide smile stretching to her eyes. “Sing with me,” he murmurs, voice rough and sticky in his throat. 

She nods, eyes widening and looking suddenly far more sober than she had five minutes ago. 

Liam’s sort of shocked into realizing the sounds coming over the speakers are the opening chords to one of his songs and he almost casts a nasty look at the DJ before she starts singing along. 

And there it is. Everything he’s been missing from their music, everything he’s been missing for so long that it’s eroded some kind of cavern into his chest cavity. So he surges forward to join her, taking a moment to adjust their harmonies so they blend. And then she shoots him a mischievous grin and takes over his big solo, stepping towards him but breathing out the words that belong to him. She takes his high note, the one he strains for, cracks his voice over, and she demolishes it. She takes his high note and pushes past it, higher, further, better, so effortless it actually hurts him inside, makes his skin burn and he wants to drop the microphone. 

But they finish in a shaky little crescendo and Liam’s pulling her to him with a strong arm around her impossibly delicate waist. 

\--

Zayn is shaking. Her legs and hands and voice wavering as he presses towards her, intent clear in his dazed expression. “Let’s go,” she whispers, nausea and drunkenness and excitement washing over her in one big cresting wave. 

It’d been a mistake to get up on that stage, to challenge him and taunt him. It’d been an even bigger mistake to join him, to get bold and take his place in his own song. He’d stormed the stage like he was going to tackle her but pressed her back instead, spurring on the defiance that had been flagging as she’d finished her own song. Now she’s shaking and turned on and letting him pull her bodily out the front door, unsure of their relative location in London. 

The front door proves to be a bigger hassle than it’s worth, unable to accommodate them side by side so Liam shoves her through ahead of him and then presses her back to the wall. It’s grimy, tugging slightly at the threads of her shirt, brick damp still from the morning rain shower. Zayn arches her back away from it, shoulder blades digging back while her hips cock forward in Liam’s impossibly big grip. 

“Come home wi’me,” Liam breathes in her ear, one hand coming up to protect the back of her head as he presses forward in a hard kiss. It’s redolent with alcohol and makes her head spin as much with drunkenness as excitement. Zayn’s gripping his shirt harder than she’d realized, hands twisting in the soft material, heavy silver rings catching and pulling. 

The black cab they end up climbing into takes five minutes of Liam gesturing wildly at those passing by until Zayn steps forward and hails one with the crook of a finger. “I forget the power of a beautiful lady,” Liam says opening the door for her. 

The ride takes all of six minutes or so but Zayn’s trembling, itching with want, Liam keeping a heavy palm resting on her upper thigh. Once in the front door Zayn has a singular focus. “Drink,” she murmurs, working out her tangled feet and dodging the cat that had begun winding its way between her legs. 

Liam only nods in response but he leads her to a kitchen and pulls a bottle of vodka from the freezer. He turns to take down some glasses but Zayn upends the bottle between her lips, cringing, and presses it towards him. He mimics her actions, refueling their flagging buzz, and almost loses the bottle to the floor when he sets it down a little too carelessly. Zayn doesn’t spare it a glance, focused on the suddenness with which Liam has surged forward, knocking into her but grabbing her thighs and hitching them up around his waist. 

Her bare ass hits the counter and she issues a sharp hiss from the cold granite, lacy knickers offering her no protecting as her skirt bunches over her hips. Liam’s tongue easily pulls the breath from her lungs, slow where his fingers are frantic, tearing the material of her panties so her legs can stay wrapped about him. Her nails drag where they touch him, leaving angry red welts in their wake, fighting off his tee shirt even as he tries working his own belt. 

Finally Zayn knocks his hands away, ripping the shirt over his head quick enough to satisfy them both and making swift work of the button on his jeans. The crack of glass barely registers in their over focused brains, vodka sloshing across the kitchen floor, bottle crunching beneath the heavy soles of Liam’s boots. 

“Fuck me,” she’s begging, caught between holding onto him and pressing her fingers everywhere they can reach.

His forehead presses hot against her throat as Zayn tilts her jaw back to accommodate the scrape of his teeth. “Wanna taste you.”

“No,” she chokes on the word, tugging his hair hard enough to make herself wince. “Need you.” Zayn figures he couldn’t find it in him to deny such a plea and almost sobs with relief when his pants his the floor. 

He presses in slow, even in their hurried state taking the time to make sure she’d be okay. And Zayn wants to tell him he doesn’t need to worry, she’s been well stretched and eaten by two of his best friends. The thought is bitter in her mouth. Instead she wraps her legs tighter around his waist, heels pushing against his back, spurring him on. 

Something else hits the floor as Zayn’s hands scramble for purchase, skittering across the counter. She whines when she finds nothing and desperately fists at Liam’s short hair instead. 

Liam lifts enough to take her weight and shuffles to the right, pressing her back into the refrigerator. The large appliance shakes with each thrust of his hips, arms hooking under her knees. Zayn feels so naked and spread open despite the skirt twisted around her waist and bra still on. When her hands work towards his body Liam catches them, fingers circling her wrists and pinning them to the cool stainless steel just above her suspended knees. 

When his rhythm slows to a dirty grind, putting enough pressure on her clit for Zayn to start shaking, she throws her head back and winces slightly at the hard thud it produces. Liam’s lips skirt her exposed neck, breathing out a half laugh taken over by a low moan. 

“Come for me,” he whispers into the skin just below her ear and she wants so badly to snort at him. Sneer at the thought that his command could send her body spiraling out of control. But he punctuates the words with a steady grind, not pulling out, just circling his hips and her thighs are trembling slung over his forearms and her fingers are twining so tightly with his blood is barely trickling to their fingertips. And he pulls his lips from her neck, opting to brush the stubble decorating his sharp jaw over her sensitive skin, the burn shooting through her whole body and she falls apart.

She’s still spiraling when his impossibly large hands cup her ass, bouncing her a few more times on his dick before he sinks teeth into her collarbone, muffling the low sounds he makes when he comes. 

They’re both shaking when he starts to lower her legs before snatching her back up. “Glass on the floor,” he murmurs, awkwardly shuffling the few steps to carpet and letting them both collapse to the ground. Liam kicks off his boots, bunched up trousers and pants, and lays back. Not bothering with the skirt flipped inside out along her ribcage, Zayn rolls into his side, body held perfectly still while his shaking fingers stroke her shoulders.

A chill is settling around them but Zayn can't find it in herself to move and neither, apparently, can he. She's subsequently exhausted and so strung out she considers the possibility of running a few laps around the building. If she hadn't been working so hard to keep her muscles tight and still Zayn would have jumped when the body beside her shifted. 

"Might as well use the bed," Liam murmurs. Zayn's closed her eyes but she senses his fingers hovering just above her forehead where hair is falling across her face. Instead he shifts away and Zayn rolls slowly onto her back, inches upright one vertebrae at a time. He's waiting patiently, eyes gentle but hyper-focused on hers as the space between them goes electric with tension. Something's happening between them that Zayn feels in her bones as she takes his outstretched hand and follows him into the bedroom, climbing in an impossibly big bed under warm covers. His arms slide around her waist, ridding her of skirt and bra before clutching tight, like he knows she so badly just needs to be held together because if she falls apart right now pieces of her might escape forever and one of those pieces could be him and his boys.


End file.
